


The Most Noble of Bullies

by emptycel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bullying, Explicit Language, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Non Explicit Sex, Romance, Secret Relationship, Teenlock, warnings for abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptycel/pseuds/emptycel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is abused at home and the biggest jerk at his school. He has no qualms about being as cruel to his classmates as his father is to him. No one is safe from his torment. <br/>Except for Sherlock Holmes. <br/>But you can't expect John to bully his secret boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Noble of Bullies

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbeta'd and un-brit picked. Please point out any mistakes.

“God, you're useless. Absolutely useless and not worth a second of my time. Pass me the bottle and get out.”

 

John slid the vodka bottle over to his father and hoped that today would be the day the man finally died of alcohol poisoning.

 

“I said get out,” Mr. Watson growled. John turned and left. He didn't say a word. He never did and he never would. There was no point in defending himself from the truth.

 

John stomped up the stairs and hid in his room, curling up into a ball on his bed. He had a few moments before Harry came home and the screaming started.

 

John wondered when everything had fallen apart.

 

He thought that it must have been that way from the beginning. He had only learned recently to stop seeing and start observing.

 

John Watson observed that his father was a bully.

 

John also observed that he was growing up to be just like him.

 

…..

 

“Please give it back, Watson,” Mike begged, his voice tiny and hopeless. “I need it.”

 

“Of course,” John said, putting on a kind tone. “I wouldn't keep your inhaler.” He tossed the medicine back to Mike Stamford but kept the first year's bag. “After all, you're going to need it if you want to get this back. Sam,” John said, tossing the bag to Moran. “You should take Mikey on a little run. He could stand to burn a few calories.”

 

Sebastian A. Moran, A.K.A. Sam, had already been blessed by the growth spurt John was still praying for. The blonde was built for physical exertion and enjoyed using it to his advantage.

 

“C'mon, Mikey,” Sam taunted. “I'll give it back if you can catch me.”

 

Sam took off running with Mike trotting behind miserably.

 

Sebastian Wilkes laughed. “Poor fat bastard. He's never going to get that back.”

 

“You should have kept the inhaler,” Jim Moriarty complained. “It would have been much funnier.”

 

“It would have been murder,” a deep, icy voice interrupted.

 

John flinched, absurdly guilty, and he turned and faced the cold stare of Sherlock Holmes.

 

“Hello, Sherlock,” Jim purred. John had to swallow his disgust. In his opinion, Jim had a little bit _too_ much interest in the tall, gawky, genius. “Care to play with us?” 

 

“I tend to avoid spending too much time with psychopaths,” Sherlock commented drily, looking unfazed by Jim's lecherous stare. 

 

“Don't spend all that much time with yourself then, Freak?” Wilkes asked.

 

John interrupted. “First of all, Seb, that didn't really make that much sense. Try harder next time. Second, he's not a psychopath, he's a high functioning sociopath. Third, leave Sherlock alone. He could ruin you in a heartbeat.”

 

“You're no _fun_ , John,” Jim complained. “You never want to play with Sherlock.” 

 

“He's not an idiot,” Sherlock asserted. “He knows that he couldn't take me in a fair fight--oh, don't look emasculated, I have three black belts--and that I could destroy him with a few sentences. You should learn from your little ring leader, Moriarty. He doesn't pick fights he will lose.”

 

“Just keep to yourself and we won't go looking for trouble, yeah?” John sputtered, crossing his arms.

 

“Leave Mike Stamford alone and I'll keep to myself.”

 

“Oh, so the Freak's a superhero now, eh?” Wilkes said, pretending to polish his horrendously expensive wrist watch. “Coming out to defend pathetic Stamford? He your new boyfriend? If you're that desperate for a cock to suck, I can let you use mine.”

 

Sherlock's face started to flush and John turned away before he hurt anyone.

 

“I'm bored,” John declared suddenly. “Let's go see if Stamford's given up yet.”

 

“Guilty Little Johnny Boy,” Jim complained. “Going to give Mikey's bag back. Going to make sure he's alright. What's the point in playing with them if you're just going to fix it in the end?”

 

“Because he's John Watson,” Sherlock said, his voice lightly mocking as they turned away. “The most noble of bullies.”

 

…..

 

John ran face first into Sherlock as he turned the corner in an empty hallway. John looked up but didn't move away from him.

 

“I'm sorry, about earlier,” John said, his cheeks burning. “I didn't want them to talk to you like that. Especially Wilkes. Christ, I wanted to murder him for that.”

 

Sherlock's expression didn't change, but the ice in his eyes melted somewhat.

 

“They'll be suspicious if you keep playing favorites,” Sherlock said at last. “Find a few others to protect. It will make your reluctance to pick on me less obvious. Include Mike Stamford and Molly Hooper on the lists. They're good people. They don't deserve it.”

 

“Are they your friends?” John asked, suddenly horrified at the thought of hurting them.

 

Sherlock shrugged. “You know I don't have friends. They don't hate me. It's the best I can hope for.”

 

Sherlock stepped away and continued walking down the corridor. John watched him go, hating himself, until the boy disappeared.

 

…..

 

John perched on his windowsill and made the absurdly easy eight inch leap to tree in the back yard. He quietly climbed down, patted his pockets to make sure he remembered to bring something for the bus ride, and set off into the night.

 

He dozed on the bus, but was practiced enough in this trip to rouse himself in time for his stop. After that, it was only a fifteen minute walk in the dead of night to get to the lovely little house in the suburbs.

 

He climbed up the lattice at the side of the house and tapped on the window farthest to the left, waiting patiently for it to open so he could tumble inside.

 

As soon as his feet touched the ground, Sherlock was on him, pressing his lips to every inch of available skin and tugging at John's clothes to reveal more.

 

“Breathe for a second, love,” John whispered, pushing Sherlock away to dig through his pockets. “If we need these, we should liberate them before we get too carried away.” He pressed the condom and the small tube of lubricant into Sherlock's palm. The teen's pupils got impossibly wider as he set the items on his nightstand and shakily started to slip off his pajamas.

 

“You alright? You seem a little off,” John asked with concern, stepping up behind Sherlock and wrapping his arms around his waist. “Bad day?”

 

“I just want _my_ John,” Sherlock whispered. “Just for a little while.” 

 

John felt like his heart was going to rip in half. He had never hated himself more than he did right then. He pressed his forehead between Sherlock's shoulder blades and took a deep breath.

 

“You shouldn't have to deal with any other version of me,” John whispered. “There shouldn't be other versions.”

 

“It's not your fault,” Sherlock said, twisting around so that he could grip at John's shirt. “Just come here. Let me see you.” He undid the buttons quickly and the shirt fell to the ground. John stood at waited patiently as Sherlock slowly ran his hands up and down John's chest, as if he was making sure the boy was real.

 

“I'm here, love,” John assured him. “I'm not going anywhere.”

 

“My John,” Sherlock sighed, and then he attacked with his mouth again.

 

They had been gentle and careful with each other in the past, but lately Sherlock had been getting more desperate, more aggressive. John let his lover tear into him with nails and teeth, taking whatever punishment he saw fit.

 

It wasn't long before they were twined tightly together, moving in practiced synchronization, sobbing in pain and pleasure, in heartbreak and love, in desire for release and fear that it would end.

 

They muffled their cries in each other's skin, praying that tonight would not be the night that Sherlock's parents found them.

 

Let it happen any other night.

 

Just give them this night.

 

“I'm not a good person,” John whispered after they had cleaned themselves up and wrapped around each other again. “I wish I was a better person for you.”

 

“If you are under the impression that I am kinder or gentler than you are, you are horribly mistaken,” Sherlock sighed. “We are broken.”

 

“We can be broken together.”

 

Sherlock just held him tightly until John had to go back home.

 

…..

 

“Jesus, she's acting like she just sprinted a marathon,” John laughed. “It's just a lap around the track, Hooper,” he called as the small girl walked by. “You look like you're about to go into cardiac arrest.” John remembered a second later that Molly was one of the people Sherlock had worried about.

 

God dammit, he really was useless.

 

“Let me know if you need the kiss of life, sweetheart,” Jim winked. Molly Hooper flushed, embarrassed, and hurried away.

 

“Where's Seb?” John asked. “Ditching physical education again?”

 

“Don't tell me you miss that twat,” Jim scoffed. “Personally, a day without that weasel is like a breath of fresh air.”

 

“Says the spider,” John laughed. “A day without any of you idiots is a fucking holiday.”

 

“There's Holmes,” Moran interrupted suddenly.

 

John's head snapped up and he found the boy unerringly.

 

“He's actually at P.E.?” John said in surprise, not even meaning to speak aloud.

 

“Hm,” Jim sighed. “He should show up more often. He looks cute in those shorts. And I wonder what he looks like dripping in sweat. Delicious, probably.”   
  
“I'm right here, Jim,” Moran complained.

 

John suddenly stood. “I'm going to talk to him for a second. Be back.”

 

“Don't you dare have any fun without us,” Jim called after him. “I've waited far too long to play with him. You'll regret it if you leave me out of it.”

 

John shot him a two finger salute and walked away.

 

Sherlock watched him approach warily. Fortunately the genius was standing alone, so John dropped the act a bit and smiled at Sherlock when no one could see.

 

“I actually forgot you were in this class,” John said as his greeting. “Did security finally catch you?”

 

“Mycroft found out I hadn't attended a gym class all semester,” Sherlock sighed. “He threatened to break my phone if I didn't start showing up.”

 

Sherlock looked so downtrodden that John had to resist the urge to pull him into his arms.

 

“You're in better shape than I am,” John pointed out. “And if anyone tries to be mean to you, I'll beat them up,” he promised.

 

Sherlock offered him a little smile before dropping his gaze. “I believe that in a few seconds the instructor will be calling the class to order for more exercises.”

 

“What class do you have next?” John asked, seemingly out of the blue.

 

“Chemistry,” Sherlock answered, looking a tad confused.

 

“How's your attendance record?”

 

“I haven't missed a class yet.” Sherlock's smile was growing again as he caught on.

 

“Care to ditch with me? We can go home early. Dad is working late today. The house will be empty. Do you want to meet me at the usual place?”   
  


“Sounds like a plan,” Sherlock said, his expression indifferent but his eyes bright.

 

…..

 

“What did you and Holmes talk about?” Moran asked.

 

“Just made sure that he won't spoil too much of our fun,” John said lightly. “He'll be showing up more, and it's annoying as hell when he plays hero.”

 

“Sherlock could be so much fun if he stopped pretending to be an angel,” Jim lamented. “We'd have the best time playing together.”

 

“I doubt it,” John interrupted before Jim could get creepier. “Saint Sherlock's never going to loosen up.”

 

…..

 

“John Watson, I do believe that you are a bad influence on me,” Sherlock said with a smile as he joined John at their favorite meeting spot, a bench concealed by thick tree growth in a park roughly equidistant from the school and both of their respective homes.

 

John was lying on the bench with his arms folded behind his head. “Don't pretend you don't love it.”

 

“I never disclosed my opinion on the matter, I was simply stating a fact.” Sherlock bent over to press a chaste kiss to John's lips. “We should go before my brother catches on. He's taken to keeping very close track of my attendance records.”

 

“Over protective prat,” John said with a yawn. “You've been clean eighteen months. I don't know what's still got his knickers in a twist.”

 

“Most likely my relationship with a boy he deems unsuitable.”

 

“Twat.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“So,” John said, sitting up. “Do you want to walk, or should we take a cab?”

 

“Do you have enough for a cab?”

 

“Provided we don't hit the worst traffic jam in London's history.”

 

“Then let's.”

 

John stood and pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock's cheek. “Watch this be the day where London has the worst traffic in its history. That would be our luck, wouldn't it?”

 

“Our luck would be entering a cab only to find Mycroft waiting inside.”

 

John shuddered. “Good Lord, that's a frightening thought.”

 

…..

 

John slammed Sherlock against the wall so hard the picture frames rattled.

 

He grabbed the taller boy's wrists and pinned them over his head. He took a moment just to admire the sight. Sherlock really did look lovely all stretched out like this.

 

“Mm, what do you want today, love?” John asked, kissing a line from Sherlock's collarbone, up his neck, and up to his cheekbone. “How will you have me?”

 

Sherlock gasped, his pupils blown wide. “Y-your mouth,” he said, flushing pink at his request.

 

“Sure thing, love,” John said with a wink, releasing Sherlock's wrists and falling to his knees in the same motion.

 

Sherlock's head fell back and hit the wall as he let out a stream of curses. John reveled in each one, feeling smugly satisfied that he could break down someone as reserved and detached as Sherlock Holmes.

 

Sherlock cried out a warning, but John held out, sucking Sherlock through the orgasm and licking him clean afterward, more used to the taste than he would ever care to admit. Sherlock slid down to the ground and started fumbling with the button of John's jeans. John helped him and in seconds Sherlock was spitting on his own hand and reaching down to pull him towards completion.

 

Long minutes later they were both slumped together in the middle of John's foyer, satiated and exhausted.

 

“C'mon, love,” John said, getting to his feet and pulling Sherlock up with him. “Let's get cleaned up and go to bed.”

 

…..

 

“They're evil,” Sherlock murmured, running his fingers across John's clavicle. After divesting themselves of their clothing, they'd rinsed off in the shower together before collapsing, still damp and still naked, into John's bed.

 

“They are not good people,” John agreed. “But neither am I.”

 

“You're a good person.”

 

“That's a blatant lie.”

 

“You're good to me.”   
  
“Because you're the center of my universe.”

 

Sherlock smiled and blushed a gorgeous rosy pink. “You're the only one in the school that doesn't want me to change.”

 

“You're the only one in the school who doesn't think I'm as psychotic as Jim,” John whispered, tangling Sherlock's fingers with his own and brushing a kiss against their knuckles. “So I guess we're kind of even.”

 

“You're a bully.” Sherlock said suddenly.

 

There was nothing malicious about the way Sherlock said it, but John bristled nonetheless.

 

“Don't get me wrong, John. You have a heart, a much better one than I do. You care so much, you are capable of so much love and good and kindness. And I love you. But you're a bully.”

 

John deflated. “I know.”

 

“I'm a bit conflicted about it.”

 

“What do you mean, love?”

 

Sherlock grinned. “On the one hand, I don't want people thinking poorly of you. On the other hand, if everyone else knew _my_ John, I think that I would have a lot more competition for your attentions.”

 

John snorted. “As if any of them could compare to you, my dearest.”

 

Sherlock snuggled closer. John responded by holding him tighter.

 

There was a moment of silence before John spoke. “I haven't had someone to be good for.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“I've never had someone who made me feel like I could be better. You make me feel like I can be better.”

 

Sherlock hummed in contentment, breathing deeply. John listened to his breaths until they both fell asleep.

 

…..

 

“ _...and you pick on other students to bury the helplessness you feel when your father beats you.”_

 

_John was stunned into silence. The silver eyed boy was wary, obviously expecting a punch in the face._

 

“ _That--” John sputtered. “That was amazing. Horrible and invasive, but amazing. How did you know all of that?”_

 

_John almost laughed at the look of sheer shock on the boy's face._

 

“ _You're not angry?” the tall boy asked._

 

“ _Well, yes. But that doesn't change the fact that you're brilliant. Absolutely astounding. You need to tell me how you knew all of that.”_

 

_The boy blushed. “Sherlock Holmes.”_

 

“ _What?”_

 

“ _My name,” he clarified. “It's Sherlock Holmes. I just moved to the city.”_

 

“ _John Watson,” John said, holding out his hand. Sherlock clasped it and a thrill of electricity passed through them. John startled and looked and Sherlock, seeing that the new student had felt it as well._

 

_John flushed and smiled._

 

_He was so fucked and he couldn't bring himself to care._

 

… _.._

 

“ _I've never done this before,” Sherlock whispered against John's lips._

 

“ _I've never done this with a boy before,” John confessed just as quietly._

 

“ _I think I love you.”_

 

_There was a beat of silence as Sherlock looked horrified at himself._

 

_John just smiled. “I think I love you too.”_

 

…..

 

“JOHN!”

 

The door to John's bedroom slammed open. Both he and Sherlock startled awake, still naked and tangled with each other.

 

“Shit!” John scrambled for the sheets, anything to cover them with. Mr. Watson looked murderous, taking in the scene with horror and fury, until his bloodshot eyes focused on Sherlock.

 

John wrapped a trembling Sherlock with the sheet and turned to face his father. “Let me put on some pants and we'll talk.” He knew the suggestion was useless, he just had to redirect Dad's attention.

 

“Like hell we'll talk! How long has this been happening, John? How long has a fucking fag been living under my roof?” Dad was spitting with rage, clenching his fist repeatedly, his eyes darting around the room like he just couldn't bring himself to believe what he was seeing. “Just, _fuck_ John. How could you do this?”   
  


John managed to get a pair of trousers on before his father snapped. He was amazed that Dad was still standing in the doorway. John kept his body in front of Sherlock, mentally running through all scenarios and trying to figure out the best way he could get his boyfriend out of there unscathed.

 

“Sherlock and I have been dating for five months,” John responded calmly. “So I guess that a 'fucking fag' has been living under your roof for that amount of time. As for how I could do this, it was surprisingly easy, considering that I'm in love with him and I honestly couldn't give a flying fuck about what you thought about it.”

 

Dad surged forward and John flinched back instinctively to shield Sherlock. He could see the boy fiddling with something out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't pay much attention to it.

 

He was too busy watching for the blow.

 

It came and it came quickly. John had prepared for it, but it still knocked him off his feet. He smacked his head hard against the ground and his vision went white for a few seconds. Miraculously, he was still conscious, and opened his eyes. He got to his feet when he saw his father advancing on Sherlock.

 

John finally put years of rugby to practical use and tackled his dad to the ground.

 

“Sherlock! Run!”

 

John wrestled with the man who used to tuck him in at night, who used to tie his shoes and make his lunch, and tried to keep him from getting back up, to give Sherlock time to get away, but the boy just stood there and watched with mute horror.

 

Mr. Watson pushed John off and John fell back hard, his head connecting with the ground again.

 

This time, he blacked out.

 

…..

 

“ _Mycroft and my parents found out about us,” Sherlock said glumly._

 

“ _Thank God it was your parents and not my dad,” John said calmly in response, slinging his arm over his boyfriend's shoulder and hugging him close. “My dad would murder us both.”_

 

“ _You don't mind?” Sherlock asked, his voice small._

 

“ _Why would I mind?” John asked, pressing a kiss to the black curls. “It's just three more people who know how much I love you.”_

 

“ _Mycroft said you're unsuitable.”_

 

“ _'Cause I'm a bloke?”_

 

_Sherlock shook his head. “He said that when the time came, you would deny me.”_

 

“ _What does that even mean?”_

 

“ _I don't know.”_

 

…..

 

_But you did know, didn't you?_

 

_Mycroft was afraid I wouldn't keep you safe. That I wouldn't fight for you._

 

…..

 

John opened his eyes to see his father choking the life out of Sherlock.

 

He scrambled to his feet, blindly grabbed something off the top of his bookshelf and hit his father in the head with it as hard as he could.

 

The man collapsed and Sherlock scrambled away, pulling air back into his lungs desperately, starved for the oxygen.

 

John looked at what he held in his hands. It was a—now considerably dented—rugby trophy. He stared at it in shock for several moments, noting the blood dripping off the side, tears streaming down his face and everything around him fading to a sort of white noise.

 

What had he just done? Could he have just killed his father?

 

Jesus, the blood.

 

“John!”

 

Sherlock's voice, much rougher than normal, finally broke through his thoughts. The boy's hands were on his shoulders, shaking him back to reality. “John! He's fine, just unconscious, barely bleeding, nothing internal. Are you alright?”

 

“Am I?” John sputtered, his thoughts focusing again and relief crashing down on him. “Are you?! He almost killed you!”

 

“Yes well. He didn't. I have you to thank for that.” Sherlock smiled, but John's gaze was drawn to the darkening marks on his neck.

 

“We need to leave,” John finally said. “Now. Before he wakes up. We have to run away, I think. Or I do. You don't have to come with me. We need to call an ambulance. But we need to do. I have to go.”

 

“You're babbling, love,” Sherlock pointed out.

 

John shook his head, set the trophy down, avoided looking at his father's slumped form, and noticed that Sherlock's sheet had fallen off.

 

And that Sherlock was partially erect.

 

“Should I be concerned about that?” John asked, frowning, the sight jarring him out of whatever shock he was going into.

 

Sherlock blushed. “You protected me,” he mumbled, picking the sheet back up and grabbing his mobile off the mattress. “It was...nice, that. I'm sorry, it's a bit not good, isn't it?”

 

“A bit. You know, considering.” John was resisting the inappropriate urge to laugh. God, this was horrible.

 

Sherlock was going to say something else, but he cut off abruptly and scowled at the doorway. John turned around and saw Mycroft standing there, sweaty, out of breath, and looking terrified.

 

“Thank God,” the British government sighed.

 

“I texted Mycroft,” Sherlock explained. “When you were...fighting. I thought we might need some help.”

 

“Just get outside,” Mycroft ordered. John noticed that there were guys in suits standing in the hall behind Mycroft. “We'll pack up your things and make sure Mr. Watson receives any necessary medical attention. We can discuss legal matters later. Sherlock, do you have anything but the sheet?”

 

“Somewhere.”

 

“Never mind. Just get to the car outside.”

 

“Where are we going?” John asked, still shaken and too tired and scared to protest.

 

“Mycroft's flat,” Sherlock said, wrapping the sheet tighter around himself and ushering John, who was still shirtless, outside. “He has a spare room you can stay in while things get sorted. Is there somewhere Harry can go, or shall I ask Mycroft to pick her up as well?”

 

“She's got friends, she doesn't usually come home anyway. But God, Harry. How am I going to explain this?”

 

“Someone else can do it for you, if you like.” Sherlock pushed John all the way to a black car. John got in without hesitation. “Or you can do it once you've processed everything.”

 

“Why are _you_ so calm?”

 

Sherlock sighed. “Only three things could have happened, John. We might have managed to keep our relationship a secret until we graduated—I found this fairly likely, actually. We were both good enough actors to have pulled it off for months already. You got tired to sneaking around and left me—I had marked that as most likely. Or we were discovered either by the school or your father, one likely leading to the other. Of course there were several variations of each outcome, and I had a few plans for each variation.”

 

“You _planned_ this?”

 

“I planned Mycroft taking you to his flat were you no longer able to stay in your home. The discovery—no, I did not plan it. I expected option one, to tell you the truth. I would have followed you to uni, wherever that was. We would have gotten a flat together and come out publicly. I probably would have struggled with drugs and dropped out. You would have forced me to get clean and you would have supported me when I decided to begin solving crimes. We would stay together as you got your medical degree and started working at A&E. When you didn't have work, you would accompany me on my cases and we would laugh and fight and make love and spend the rest of our lives together.”

 

John swallowed, fighting tears. God, he wanted that. Well, maybe not the drugs bit, but the staying together forever part sounded perfect. He wished desperately that they could have had that. “And now? What is the plan for this variation?”

 

Sherlock smiled. “We got sort of lucky, believe it or not. This has the nicest ending. You stay with Mycroft for a few days. You're eighteen, so you won't have to go into the foster system. We will have to fight to keep Harry out of it, since she won't be old enough for two years. During the time you are with Mycroft, we will sort out all the complications of assault and abuse. Bit of a mess we've just left behind, legally. Mycroft will ask you and Harry to press charges against your father. You will refuse, Harry might not. Mycroft will have your things packed and force Mr. Watson to sign over his rights to Harry's guardianship, where it will then be transferred to my parents.”

 

“What?!”

 

“Oh yes, I've spoken to them about this as well. Did you know that they were over the moon when they found out about us? Never seen them so happy. Or so proud. Why do you think we've never been 'caught' when you sneak into my room? Hint: it's not because you're a master at staying quiet.”

 

“Oh, God.”

 

“Harry will become their responsibility legally, although she can stay with a friend if she so chooses. They will make sure she receives medical care and a good education. They will also ensure she goes to rehab if necessary, John. It isn't as though they are unfamiliar with addicts.”

 

“I can't let them do that.”

 

“John, we are by no means gentry, but we have more than enough money to take care of your sister until she is old enough to take care of herself. I know you don't like to see yourself as a charity case, but it isn't charity if you are family.”

 

“Family?”

 

“Yes, family. Not yet, technically, but don't worry, this plan has us getting married in it.”

 

“Excuse me?!”

 

“Shh. I'm not finished. After all the legal things are taken care of, you move in with me and my parents--”

 

“What.”

 

“--and they won't make us have separate rooms, because let's be realistic here, we _will_ have a great deal of sex. Then we can choose whether or not we come out to the school. Although, if I can be a bit selfish for a moment, I must admit that I rather like the idea of telling everyone that you're mine. After we graduate, we get married so we can join our finances without too much fuss. That way I can work as a private detective and help put you through medical school. Then you become a surgeon at A&E and I begin working with the police and maybe we adopt a baby somewhere in there, but it will most likely be you and me and our pet dog until we grow old and die.”

 

John was speechless. “That's your plan?”

 

“Yes.”

 

John started to laugh, just as the car pulled up next to a ridiculously posh collection of flats. “God, I love you so much.”

 

“So you agree?”

 

“Sherlock?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Will you marry me?”

 

…..

 

“I must thank you, John,” Mycroft said that evening, over an extremely awkward dinner, which began with John and Sherlock informing Mycroft of their engagement and went downhill from there. Sherlock had gone home and hour ago, leaving John alone with a man he connected to through mutual dislike and a massive debt.

 

“What?” John almost dropped his fork in shock.

 

“I've read Sherlock's report--”

 

“Sherlock wrote a report? When?”

 

“--and I have to admit that I would not expect such...nobility from you.”

 

“Um.”

 

“Forgive me John, but I have always seen you as a bully.”

 

John winced. “I've deserved the title, I think.”

 

“I believed that when the time came, when you and Sherlock were discovered, you would throw him under the bus, so to speak. I expected you to blame him, to paint yourself the victim. I expected you to deny your relationship with him, break his heart, and save yourself.”

 

The only thing that kept John from giving into his anger and lunging at the pompous bastard was knowing that he currently owed the man everything.

 

“I beg your forgiveness for that assumption,” Mycroft finally said, meeting John's eyes for the first time. “Sherlock's report stated that you never once denied him. You didn't say, 'It's not what it looks like' or push him away in disgust. Instead you _protected_ him. You stood up to your abuser to keep my little brother safe. Thank you, John. It was very brave.”

 

“Er...you're welcome?”

 

“Yes,” Mycroft said thoughtfully. “You are a brave man.”Mycroft got up from the table. He turned to leave the kitchen before turning back for a few parting words. “And John? One thing that bullies most definitely are _not_ , is brave.”

 

…..

 

“I'm going to enjoy having you here,” Sherlock sighed happily, wrapping his arms around John's waist and pressing his cheek to the top of his head. “You really do make the most lovely addition to my bedroom.”

 

“Speaking of,” John said, putting his hands over Sherlock's. “I just had the world's most awkward conversation with Mummy. She has informed me that just because I'm living here now, does _not_ mean that we can be as loud as we want.”

 

“Ugh,” Sherlock said, pulling away. “Thank God I wasn't there.”

 

“Yeah, but Harry was. And she promised that if she can hear us from her room, she will castrate us both.”

 

Both boys gave a shudder and John sighed. “I kind of wish she'd stayed with a friend after all.”

 

“Father adores her,” Sherlock lamented. “He always wanted a daughter. His only regret is that Harry will not let him buy her dresses and hair bows.”

 

John snorted. “Oh, but Lord I would like to see him try.”

 

“It would definitely be interesting.”

 

John looked around the room for a moment, surveying the space where he would be spending the next few months of his life. There were experiments on the desk and dirty clothes on the floor. The window was a bit broken from the number of times John had climbed through it, and the sheets were soiled from their decision to 'break in their room' that morning.

 

Which was what prompted the conversation from earlier.

 

“What do you know about sound proofing?” John finally asked Sherlock.

 

His boyfriend laughed and suggested they test just how quiet they can be.

 

It was not a very successful experiment. John believes that many repeated trials will be necessary.

 

…..

 

“I'm going to be better for you,” John whispered to Sherlock that night.

 

“I believe you,” Sherlock whispered back.

 

…..

 

They waited two weeks before John returned to school. It took that long for the bruises to fade enough to be passed off as something else.

 

“You dropped off the face of the Earth, Johnny boy,” Jim complained when John came back. “You and darling Sherlock. A coincidence, I'm sure.” His tone suggested he believed it was anything but.

  
“The universe is seldom so lazy,” John said with an easy smile. “I'm sorry, I'd love to chat, but I need to get to class. Say hi to the guys for me.”

 

John walked away, feeling more powerful than he ever had in his life.

 

…..

 

“So how are we going to do this, exactly?” John asked Sherlock during the lunch hour. They were in the Chemistry lab. John was watching Sherlock see how many chemicals he could combine before something reacted and exploded.

 

“Do what?”

 

“Come out.”

 

Sherlock looked up in astonishment. “Out of the closet?”

 

John rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

 

Sherlock dumped something pink into his fizzing concoction of death. He stared at it hopefully for a moment, sighing when nothing happened.

 

“I wasn't sure you wanted to do that,” Sherlock said, sounding like he was being careful.

 

“I love you,” John said simply. “And I don't care who knows it. In fact, I want people to know it. I want people to look at me and wonder what I could have done to deserve the love of such a beautiful, brilliant, amazing, incredible man. _Especially_ since you've agreed to marry me.”

 

Sherlock flushed. “You are being saccharine. It is revolting.”

 

“You love it.”

 

“I most certainly do _not_.”

 

“Should we walk down the hall holding hands? Lacks drama.”

 

“Bit childish,” Sherlock agreed.

 

“Should we get caught shagging in the cupboard? Ah, we could get expelled.”

 

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Probably not the best outcome.”

 

“How about a happy medium?”

 

Sherlock looked at though he was about to suggest something, but he chose that moment to dump a white powder into his horrific brew of evil.

 

John saw the smoke before Sherlock did. He pulled them both to the ground as the beaker exploded in a show of glass and caustic chemical.

 

“WHY WAS I SUPERVISING THIS?” John yelled over the sound of the fire alarm, triggered by the smoke. “I WAS LITERALLY JUST SITTING THERE AND WATCHING YOU DO THIS. THAT WAS A BAD IDEA.”

 

“STOP YELLING!” Sherlock yelled. “AND RUN!”

 

They ran before they could get caught.

 

Everyone in the school knew it was Sherlock who blew up the chemistry lab, but they lacked proof. And the person administration usually asked to find the proof in these situations was the main suspect. They likely would have expelled him on suspicion had John not had an absolutely immoral but ingenious plan.

 

The school called an assembly to try and root out the culprit, and John used that setting for his master scheme. Administration, of course, pointed the finger at Sherlock. He waited until they were ready to pin it on him for good before he let out a gut wrenching sob and stood shakily to his feet. He then proceeded to provide a brilliant false alibi that absolutely no one questioned. The fact that it solved the whole 'coming out' question was just a bonus.

 

“Are you actually telling me that no one even checked?” Mycroft asked over Sunday dinner, a meal he made more of an effort to attend once the Watson/Holmes clans joined.

 

“Didn't even think to,” John said through his tears of laughter.

 

Harry was doubled over in her seat from laughing so hard. Sherlock's face was red and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes couldn't even bring themselves to be angry about the deception.

 

“Why would they?” Sherlock asked, gasping for air. “'Tough guy' and known bully John Watson tearfully confessing in front of the whole school that I couldn't have blown up the lab because, at the time of the explosion, I was snogging him senseless in a supply cupboard.”

 

“Admin felt so bad about kicking me out of the closet that they dropped the whole thing,” John said, his laughter subsiding into giggles. “The assembly turned from a lecture-slash-manhunt into a lesson in tolerance and accepting who you are.”

 

“Oh my God,” Mummy sighed. “What happened then?”

 

“Oh, it was the best part,” Harry said, her laughter starting up all over again.

 

“A whole bunch of students ran to the front of the auditorium and started confessing their secrets,” John barely managed to say clearly. “It was like that one song in High School Musical where everyone tells their friends about the things they secretly liked. And a great deal of closet doors were broken down. Clara finally came out, so Harry got a little moment of lesbian power.”

 

“I ran up and kissed her in front of everyone,” Harry declared.

 

Mr. Holmes gave her a smattering of applause and looked at her with pride.

 

“So not to be outdone, I shoved my tongue down John's throat,” Sherlock added. “The whole room applauded. Some people were crying and there was a great deal of hugging and accepting going on.”

 

“Admin was so moved,” John finished, wiping a tear away, “that afterward they pulled me to the side and thanked me for being so courageous in telling the truth and setting such an amazing example for the rest of the student body.”

 

“They're thinking about naming an award after you,” Sherlock revealed. “'The John Watson Award for Combating Intolerance.'”

 

That set off a whole new round of laughter. Even Mycroft contributed his own little chuckle.

 

“There's a slightly evil part of my brain that wants to tell them the truth, just to fuck with their heads a bit,” John admitted. “I won't, though,” he assured Sherlock. “Your secret's safe with me.”

 

“God, I'm looking forward to school tomorrow,” Sherlock said with a smile. “It's going to be _brilliant._ ”

 

“I must admit, that's not a sentence I ever thought I would hear you say, brother,” Mycroft put in with a small smile. “Perhaps in the most backwards way possible, John is becoming a good influence.”

 

“I'm always a good influence,” John protested, to be received by several snorts of laughter. “Pricks.”

 

…..

 

The next day at school, John found himself with a new set of friends.

 

Gone was Jim, gone were the Sebastians.

 

Instead, John found himself receiving warm smiles from Molly Hooper, Greg Lestrade, and even Mike Stamford (whom John took the opportunity to apologize to profusely until Mike begged him to shut up and drop it already). Sherlock didn't seem to realize that he came attached to his own group of loyal friends, but he seemed happy enough to spend lunch hour with all of them.

 

Sherlock had originally intended to conduct some experiments, but John convinced him it would be best to lie low for a while. The young genius had taken some coaxing, but John had won him over by promising to snog him in a cupboard later.

 

“I'll make an honest man out of you yet,” Sherlock had agreed fondly. “At least this way you won't be a liar anymore. You'll just be chronologically inaccurate.”

 

John reveled in his clean slate, and the people who were willing to get to know him were very pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn't a sadist or a sociopath, but a very kind and considerate boy with more honest courage than the rest of them put together.

 

…..

 

“Molly, darling, would you give me a few minutes of your time?” Jim asked the girl, catching her by her jacket and refusing to let go.

 

Molly squeaked and started to struggle.

 

“Oh, calm down. I only want to talk.”

 

“Piss off, Jim,” John ordered as the scene caught his attention. “Leave her alone. I mean it.”

 

“Why, Johnny Boy, are you talking to me?” Jim let Molly go and gave John an exaggerated expression of shock. “Could King Queer really be gracing me with his much coveted attentions?”

 

“Fuck off,” John sighed, feeling weary down to his bones. “It's really not worth it. Find something else to entertain yourself with.”

 

Jim took the few necessary steps to close the distance between him and John. “Oh, John. I could, I really could. I could play a lovely little game right now. But you know what? It won't be any fun, because you got _boring_ , Johnny. You really did. You became an _angel_ and shacked up with your angel boyfriend and hold hands and skip down the hallways and pretend that you never painted your knuckles red with a child's blood or treated a girl like the useless object she was. You pretend that your soul is pure and perfect so you can run around with your freak of a boyfriend and his stupid, dull family. You're pathetic, John Watson. You're useless, and you are not worth my time.”

 

John waited until he was sure Jim was finished. “Feel better now?” John asked drily. “Jim, I don't care that you think I'm boring. I take being called an angel a compliment, and you are not the scariest person to call me a useless waste of time. I don't care what I am or what I used to be so long as I know what I'm not. And I am not you. I am not cruel, I am not sick, and I am not a coward. You think that you are tough and terrifying, but James Moriarty, you are nothing but a bully. And I am not you, not anymore.”

 

“No, you're really not,” Jim said thoughtfully. “Shame. We did have so much fun together.” Jim turned to leave. “Oh, and don't think for one second that we're finished here. I suspect that we'll be seeing a good deal of each other in the future.”

 

“That's creepy and unnecessarily vague,” John informed him. Jim kept walking away, so John just raised his voice. “I get that you were going for a dramatic, ambiguous goodbye, but I'm not afraid of you, so the effect was lost!”

 

John was suddenly tackled from behind.

 

“I caught the end of that,” Sherlock said in his ear, resting his full body weight on a struggling John. “It was fantastic. You're perfect. I love you.”

 

John tried to say he loved Sherlock back, but as he was currently being crushed, the sound he made was closer to that of a deflating balloon.

 

“Help,” he gasped, and Sherlock rolled off of him.

 

They both were lying in the middle of a corridor during passing time, but no one seemed to mind. Everyone was still seeing them as the school's cutest couple.

 

John was pretty sure that someone had started a twitter account detailing everything he and Sherlock were seen doing. Which was creepy in _everyone's_ opinion.

 

John got to his feet and grasped Sherlock's hands to pull him up as well. He gave his boyfriend a quick kiss and finally got his breath back enough to say, “I love you too.”

 

“Good,” Sherlock said, throwing his arm around John's shoulders and pulling him close. “Because I have a surprise for you at home.”

 

…..

 

The surprise was rings.

 

“Came in the mail,” Sherlock informed him, looking proud. “About time. I ordered them right after you proposed.”

 

“You make it sound like doing so was my idea,” John laughed, picking up the box and examining the platinum bands. “They're lovely. Are these the wedding rings or the engagement rings?”

 

“Both,” Sherlock said. “More efficient. And I don't think either of us wants to be loaded down with an unnecessary number of rings. We should probably get something engraved on them.”

 

“You do it. I won't be able to come up with something half as brilliant as you will.”

 

“Very true.”

 

“Git. Here, I want to do something.” John picked up the slightly smaller ring and took Sherlock's left hand. “Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?”

 

“I plan to.”

 

“Say the traditional thing.”

 

“Traditional thing?”

 

“Sherlock.”

 

“Fine,” Sherlock sighed. He put on a fake smile, batted his eyelashes, and said, “Why yes, John! Of course!”

 

“Good.” John kissed Sherlock for a good long while and slipped the ring onto his finger.

 

“My turn,” Sherlock said, pulling away and getting the other ring. “John Watson,” he started gravely.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Will you do me the honor...”

 

“Go on,” John prompted quietly.

 

“Of allowing me to attach electrodes to you when you sleep so I can monitor your brain waves?”

 

John sighed. “Fuck you, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock laughed. “I'm kidding! John Watson, will you make one of the worst decisions of your life and marry me?”

 

“God yes, you insufferable twat.”

 

“Please say something different when we actually recite our vows.”   
  
“Maybe.”

 

Sherlock worked the ring on John's finger and looked incredibly satisfied in seeing it there. “Lovely. You're mine.”

 

“I am,” John agreed. “But you're mine too. That's the other part of the deal.”

 

“Of course, wouldn't have it any other way.”

 

…..

 

Sherlock took the ring back to get it engraved.

 

He returned it to John a few days later. John immediately checked the inscription.

 

_Bully._

 

John frowned and prepared to get legitimately upset when Sherlock showed him the inside of his own ring.

 

_Freak_ . 

 

“Because,” Sherlock said, looking nervous about his choice, “it will never, ever matter how we are perceived by others, so long as we love and accept each other for everything are and everything we were. I fell in love with a bully, seeing the heart within him. You fell in love with a freak, seeing the person you believed he could be. I will love you, no matter what you have been or what you will become. I can only pray you will do the same for me.”

 

John took a deep breath and slipped the ring back on his finger.

 

“God, I love you,” he finally said. “I will love you until the day I die.”

 

…..

 

“John, I'm bored.”

 

“Sherlock, Greg just offered you a case.”

 

“A boring one.”

 

221B was, admittedly, a bit dull. The city was quiet, and John was recovering from back to back shifts at A&E. Sherlock had spent John's absence, apparently, shooting holes into the wall with John's less than legal handgun.

 

“A boring case is better than no case.”   
  
“Lies.” Sherlock rolled off the sofa and stomped over to John's chair, standing in front of the doctor with his hands on his hips. “Entertain me. You know what to do.”

 

“I'm sure I have absolutely no idea. Prat.”

 

“You were much nicer to me when we were seventeen,” Sherlock complained, sitting down in front of John and putting his head into his husband's lap. “Even when you were an utter prick to everyone else you always sucked my cock.”

 

“Whining about how mean I've become in my old age does not count as foreplay, love.”

 

“We are thirty six. We are not old.”

 

“But neither are we young,” John lamented. “And I still don't suck cocks on command.”

 

“We've been married for eighteen years!” Sherlock complained. “I don't really think foreplay is still necessary and I am bored.”

 

“Fine,” John sighed. “Get up. Go to the bedroom. Take off your clothes. I'll be there once I've finished my tea.”

 

Sherlock jumped to his feet, all the enthusiasm of his seventeen year old self returning for just a moment.

 

“But I won't suck your cock,” John informed him. Sherlock pouted. “I'm going to fuck you until you cry. Then you will tell me how nice I am these days.”

 

Sherlock _ran_ to the bedroom.

 

John watched him go. Nineteen years. _Nineteen years_ he had been chasing after that mad man.

 

John set down his tea and got to his feet.

 

Nineteen years and he still couldn't get enough.

 

John watched Sherlock strip and lay himself down on the bed. Then he took his sweet time taking his own clothes off before grabbing the lube and preparing his husband.

 

When he slid in, he marveled over the fact that it was never less thrilling than it had been the very first time.

 

John moved slowly, with more restraint than he had ever managed when he was seventeen and desperate for relief. He pressed against Sherlock's prostate with each stroke, torturing his husband until, true to his word, John had him sobbing into the mattress.

 

“I've got you, love,” John assured him before finally reaching around to stroke Sherlock's cock. Sherlock arched his back and moaned as he came, trembling and shaking with his release. John followed a moment later, coming slowly, almost lazily inside of his husband.

 

He pulled out and collapsed to the side, pulling Sherlock into his chest.

 

“You _are_ nicer now,” Sherlock decided after a moment. “Much nicer. I think I prefer you now, actually.”

 

“Good,” John said. “Because you're still stuck with me for a while yet.”

 

“Exactly,” Sherlock said, sounding pleased with himself. “That was my plan all along.”

 

“Like hell it was. Your original plan was to take the school bully down a few pegs.”

 

“All while fantasizing about what he'd be like in my bed.”

 

“I don't think I believe you.”

 

Sherlock kissed him, soft and slow. “I love you, my bully.”

 

“I love you too, you prat. Since I was seventeen and until the day I die, I will always love you.”

 

“Sentiment,” Sherlock scoffed.

 

“You started it,” John accused.

 

“I did no such thing,” Sherlock insisted, but he was smiling.

 

…..

 

They got married six months after they graduated.

 

John grew up to be a brilliant surgeon. With the Holmes family willing to loan him the money for his education, he did not enlist, as he had originally planned to do. He and Sherlock still invested in several martial arts and self defense classes out of necessity, and John took it upon himself to learn his way around a gun, but now and then he wished he had received military training at one point or another. He had the feeling it would have come in handy.

 

Sherlock grew up to be a brilliant consulting detective. He prided himself in being the only one in the world. For a time he worked a good deal of private cases to pay for food and rent while John was in school. As soon as John was holding his own job, he started working with the police.

 

He probably would have been told to piss off, had their old friend Greg Lestrade not decided to grow up to be a police officer. He moved up very quickly through the ranks with Sherlock's assistance, becoming one of the youngest detective inspector's in the Yard's history.

 

Molly grew up to be a forensic pathologist. She never quite got over her crush on Sherlock and let him into the morgue much more than she should have. But that was alright. She had John had become very good friends at the end of their last year and stayed close all through university, and he was just happy that she gave Sherlock something to do, crush notwithstanding.

 

Mycroft, of course, grew up to rule the world. With John as mediator, the brothers regained some of the closeness shared during their childhood. Mycroft occasionally came over for dinner at 221B.

 

Harry married Clara fresh out of college. She went Uni for business management and became successful at an up and coming corporation that gave her a salary John could only dream of. After a few stints of rehab while she was still living with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, she confined herself to only drinking socially. Clara is expecting their third child later in the year.

 

James Moriarty grew up to be a more dangerous man than any of them could have guessed. He never quite let go of the idea of 'playing' with Sherlock, and almost managed to win that game on several occasions.

 

Criminal organization be damned, John finally gave up and shot his old friend Jim in the head. Mycroft covered it up and John never had to face the legal repercussions, although his hair went grey shortly after, an outer mark of the havoc his conscience was wreaking.

 

Life wasn't easy. They fought with each other more than any other couple they knew. The sheer volume of their arguments had the neighbors calling the police on more than one occasion, believing that there was domestic abuse in 221B.

 

Of course, Greg knew that was ridiculous, and more often than not those worrisome files disappeared. He had never seen two people who loved each other more than Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

 

John had his regrets and Sherlock had his demons. They were, by no means, perfect. The past returned to haunt them on more than one occasion, first in the form of Jim Moriarty, then in the form of Mr. Watson, released from prison after serving for abuse and attempted murder.

 

John had never pressed charges, but Harry and Sherlock sure did. He testified truthfully at both hearings and was not sad to see his father get sent away.

 

He felt considerably worse when his father returned, pounding on the door of 221B and demanding to speak to them.

 

He did not want to speak.

 

He was arrested again several hours later for the attempted murders of John Hamish Watson and William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

 

John did not sleep very well for many nights.

 

Sherlock could only hold his husband and pray that they were safe for the immediate future.

 

But they were okay.

 

No matter what happened, they would be okay. Because after everything they went through, after years of struggle and pain and challenges that would never end, they still looked at each other like they were seventeen years old.

 

The bully and the freak, always united against the world.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me at emptycel.tumblr.com for updates, excerpts and ficlets. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. :)


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